


Unruly

by Clair de Lune (clair_de_lune)



Category: Prison Break
Genre: M/M, Porn Battle, Pre-Series, Sibling Incest, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 20:20:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clair_de_lune/pseuds/Clair%20de%20Lune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were no rules. They broke all the moral and social rules when they did this so they weren’t going to create some of their own, were they? (Pre-series)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unruly

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle XIV for the prompts Michael/Lincoln, Candles, Slow, Easy.

Three times a night or once every six months. When one or both them felt low or alone or just couldn’t take the distance anymore and needed this. Kissing, making out, heavy petting, hand jobs or full-on fucking. Lazy, frantic and anything in-between. At one of their places, in a car or in a back alley at the end of the day. There were no rules. They broke all the moral and social rules when they did this so they weren’t going to create some of their own, were they? Simple and easy as simple and easy got. No need to talk, explain or ask, all it took was a look, a gesture, an intonation.

Michael was taking his time tonight, parading around the bedroom, stark naked, erect cock jutting forward like it was nothing unusual. An arm thrown under his head, Lincoln had laid back and was enjoying the show. It was a nice show, after all. In response to it, he stroked his own cock lazily, hardly aware he was doing it. Because he needed to take the edge off, because Michael was too busy to do it himself, because it felt good – even better when Michael stood at the foot of the bed and stared, his eyes dark with want but also with annoyance at Lincoln’s starting without him.

He was lighting up candles. It was pretty, all those golden small flames sparkling on the dresser and the nightstand, but Lincoln didn’t quite get it.

“Just trying to set the mood,” Michael explained.

“Very romantic, but you know you’re fucking your brother and that it’s the opposite of romantic, right?”

Michael squinted at him and headed to a small table by the window, white candle in one hand, lighter in the other.

“You know you’re an asshole, right?”

Lincoln replied with an outrageous tug on his erection and even more outrageous wiggling of his eyebrows. It achieved his goal: Michael ditched the lighter and the remaining candles and walked to the bed as if dragged by a string. In half a second Lincoln had grabbed his wrist and pulled him down against his chest, tucking him between his knees and palming the back of his head to make sure he wouldn’t move without his consent.

“You’re pretty in the candle light.”

Michael opened his mouth to reassert his opinion regarding his brother’s assholeness, only to have Lincoln switch their positions and roll him onto his back. Michael landed in the middle of the pillows with a stifled “Humph!” and looked up. Lust and a hint of awe and hesitation about what Lincoln would tolerate; Lincoln loved that look. It was full of promises.

“You are pretty in the candle light,” he said again. His kiss – kisses – prevented Michael from uttering any complaint or retort, from even forming them. Arms extended to the sides, thighs splayed wide open, Michael laid back and bent his knees, lax and offered. Lincoln smirked. Yeah, just like that, didn’t need more. “A compliment and a couple of kisses, it’s all that it takes? You’re so easy.”

“Only for you.”

That wasn’t wrong, and it was the whole point, wasn’t it? No muss, no fuss, no deep thoughts about how fucked up this was. It _was_ fucked up, but they couldn’t help doing it so what would have been the point of mulling over it?

His eyes trained on Michael’s, Lincoln slipped two fingers coated with saliva into him. No need to force his way in; barely a slight press and he felt Michael tighten and relax rhythmically around the digits. That wasn’t where the kick lay, though. For that, he needed to watch Michael’s face, how his cheekbones flushed and his eyelids fluttered, the way his lips parted on an exhaled breath. More than pleasure – relief.

“What do you want?” Lincoln asked against his mouth.

Michael’s eyes opened as if he’d been drawn from a dream; liquid and unfocused.

“Mm?”

“You’re the one who called, Michael. I thought, maybe you wanted something in particular?”

“Just...” He stopped talking as Lincoln’s fingers gently thrust into him, gasped, arched up, tried to find coherent words, and failed. “... you,” he breathed out for lack of anything more articulate. “Anything.”

Lincoln froze above him, the bare honesty of the reply, the hint of desperation in it, stopping him in his tracks. He’d entertained thoughts of never ending foreplay and teasing and taking Michael in any and all ways they could imagine; maybe also playing a bit with those candles that were casting a glowing light in the otherwise dark bedroom. But this wasn’t the kind of night Michael had in mind, and it was Michael who had called. Perhaps this was the only rule, giving the other one whatever he needed at the time he needed it.

The candles, though, were tempting, a couple of them right within his reach on the nightstand. He rose on his knees and tested the temperature of liquid wax with the tip of his finger. Michael shouldn’t have set them so close if he wanted to play it safe – but the way Michael was watching him, the way he bit his upper lip when the first droplets fell onto the smooth skin of his collarbone hinted that he didn’t mind. Not at all.

They didn’t do this sort of thing, usually. They kept it simple to the point of being basic. Not unimaginative, just... simple.

A thin trail of wax ran and solidified between Michael’s collarbone and his chest, stopping just above his heart. He jolted, and jolted again when more warm wax dripped onto his flank, his belly, his hip, his lower stomach. Lincoln dug his knees deeper into the mattress on each side of his body, both to hold him steady and to _feel_ him between his thighs. He was warm and shivering with arousal and anticipation. Lincoln tipped the candle.

The white wax was shaping odd patterns all over his chest and stomach, the drops fatter and warmer as Lincoln stimulated the flame, sliding dangerously lower. Making Michael harder and thicker. Lincoln wrapped a protective hand around Michael’s cock, pressed it out of the way, and let a large glob of wax drop onto the delicate skin – there were curly dark hairs, there, more than on Michael’s upper body, and the wax would be a bitch to remove, but it seemed to only make Michael’s eyes shine brighter.

“Again?” Lincoln offered. He didn’t know what possessed Michael tonight, but he loved the blatant display of trust – you got to have faith in someone to trust him near your equipment with a burning candle and hot wax.

Michael shook his head a single time, hardly moving against the pillow, and bent his knees higher in invitation. In a second, the candle was carefully set back on the nightstand and forgotten, and Lincoln was positioning himself.

He dragged it out. The whole encounter. He slid in slowly, so slowly that Michael reared up, tried to lure him in, and found himself shushed and pushed down into the sheets. He moved slowly, focusing on the heat and the tightness and every tiny clench of Michael’s body around him. He kissed him slowly. They had the whole night, the whole weekend if they wanted it, no need to rush anything. Michael moaned beneath him and Lincoln smiled against his cheek. Right. His always-controlled baby brother so easily lost all control when they did this, Lincoln couldn’t help pushing him a bit more. He shoved harder and deeper and met no resistance at all, Michael tight but smooth and supple, welcoming.

“So good,” Linc whispered into his ear.

He lost track of time. His idle back-and-forth movements were hypnotizing, the comfort of Michael around him and under him, his breathing into his neck, his hands roaming freely, not something he wanted to give up any time soon. It took the candle on the nightstand to call him back to reality because its wax was brimming over and invading the candle jar – the candle and Michael’s pleading gasps.

\--*--

“’t was amazing,” Michael mumbled when he opened his eyes.

He’d fallen asleep right after coming, barely leaving enough time for Lincoln to get there too, and Lincoln wasn’t sure whether he should feel flattered or insulted. Ultimately, he went for flattered because yeah...

Michael’s bleary eyes moved to his stomach, brushed over Lincoln, who had slid down and was as delicately as possible scratching congealed wax from Michael’s pelvis – trying to, at least.

Maybe it was the care and tenderness Lincoln was putting into his efforts; maybe it was the light though constant touch; or maybe it was just that Michael was a pervy, insatiable little shit. Still as pretty in what was left of the candle light – prettier even, now that he was all hooded eyes, plump lips and fucked-out body. His cock was stirring again, growing and thickening slowly but surely. Lincoln looked up with a smirk, but wasn’t met with the smallest hint of embarrassment. A small shrug, a coy smile, a hand that automatically petted the awakening erection.

“That’s what you do to me,” Michael said simply.

Lincoln batted his hand away and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the silky flesh. The kiss led to more kissing and to licking and to Michael writhing across the bed.

“I’m...” He stroked Lincoln’s cheek with long, slightly quivering fingers. Lincoln had a few plans for those fingers, later tonight or tomorrow, but for now... He took Michael into his mouth and watched the muscles of his stomach ripple in response. “I’m covered with wax and it sticks, for the record,” Michael pointed out with this smartass-y voice that Lincoln instantly determined to make him lose in three minutes tops. “I don’t think adding anything to it would be a good idea.”

Lincoln flicked his tongue around the tip of Michael’s cock, tasting pre-come and velvety skin before diving down again. Michael was starting to fill his mouth nicely, the weight and thickness familiar, and Lincoln was _not_ stopping.

“Don’t worry,” he assured him when letting go of him on an upward movement. “I won’t let any of it spill on you.”

No rules meant carte blanche to play foul. Neither of them ever complained.

END

\--Feedback in any shape or form is always welcomed and appreciated :)


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